Oh to be a Pom down under...

I check out of the posh hotel and move my stuff to a budget place nearby, which caters for travellers but affords the luxury of cheap single rooms for snobs like me. It's got everything you would want from a hotel here - clean and modern rooms with tv, fridge, en suite and air con - combined with the standard communal kitchens, pool table, bottle shop (that's an off licence to you and me) and internet access. Whoever predicted a hot and sunny 32 today has clearly been at the absinthe. It is 22, windy and overcast. I abandon plans to go to a beach, and instead decide to check out the centre of Sydney's shops. I musn't complain - it's still pleasant weather, although the combination of grey skies and familiar shops means it literally does just seem like I'm in England. This isn't a complaint, I am just struck by how similar everything is to home. I've come to the other side of the world, and yet it feels like home. In fact, the Victorian shopping centre, and the underground city rail stations that out do the tube for tradition, are more English than anything at home! As I sit down for lunch at Wagamamas (!!), I read up in the Aussie press about our abject surrender in yesterday's cricket. I expected relentless gloating, I anticipated a nation that could never tire of taunting the Mother Country about how it had come Down Under as holders of the Ashes and had f***ed up in such style. The headline in the Saturday Daily Telegraph surprised me somewhat. A supplement inside printed a full page of Qantas return tickets to England with the message 'Go Home. Our message to a pathetic cricket team.' The Aussies don't appear to be gloating now, at least judging from this coverage. They're seriously pissed off. One commentator said: "If they were Namibia or Kenya they might have an excuse. But they are England ... if not leading the world, they should at least be keeping pace with it. There is simply no excuse for being this bad." England's tour here was eagerly anticipated. It was expected to be a fitting sequel to the gripping Ashes encounter of 2005. It hasn't even been a contest. The Aussies are bored with it all and, incredibly, seem to feel let down. To gloat now after yesterday's shambles would verge on the inhuman. It would be like teasing a spastic for being crap at maths. It should not have been like this. One Aussie said to me that this was the worst English side to tour Australia, which it is if you look at the results. But it isn't. Talent wise this is the best to come here since we last won the Ashes on Australian soil 20 years ago. A combination of shocking management/captaincy and the abject inability of this 'team' to apply themselves to the task in hand - faced with a determined, driven and talented Australian side - is the reason for this. The England sides that came and lost here in the past had less talent, but the Atherton's, Hussain's and Stewart's had character. They had balls. This lot really should f*** off home.

As night falls, I fuel myself full of vodka in my hotel room (I've always been renowned for this classy streak) and then head off towards Oxford Street - Sydney's gay mecca. I had probably already drunk too much when I stumbled across the first gay bar I saw. A bouncer on the door is glaring at me. Shit. I must be pissed. Walk straight. He's still glaring. Ah! I'm smoking, this is the 21st Century and Malrlboro Lights are the new Nazis, so I stamp my cigarette out on the floor as I approach the door. He's still glaring. Fuck. "Got any ID, mate?" "Eh?" "I said, have you got any ID?" Perplexed, I fumble around in my wallet for my driving licence. I hand it over, and he scans it carefully before a shocked look engulfs his face. He's seen my date of birth. "Yup. I'm 30 this year." "In ya go, mate." Back of the net. I stay for one before heading off to Stonewall, Sydney's most famous gay club. I get in without being asked for any money, and discover it's not really a club - it's a late bar on three levels. Is THIS their G.A.Y? As I'm on my own, I do what anyone else would do in the circumstances - drink furiously. By the time it passes midnight I seriously forget what country I am in. It proves to be a good night though, and I meet some new friends (further details are censored as this is a family orientated web site).

We're here because we're here...

The in-flight Qantas entertainment represents a vast improvement on that served up by British 'lose your luggage' Airways.

One of the films I watch is the Queen, starring Helen Mirren as Her Maj. It focuses on the period after Diana's death, and how the Royal Family retreats to Balmoral away from a mourning public, and how the newly-elected New Labour government spin machine fills the vacuum left by their aloofness. Prince Philip is portrayed as a heartless bastard, and Alistair Campbell is portrayed as a soulless bastard. Quality viewing! Well, to be a press officer working in a political environment I guess it would be.

We land in Sydney at 8am. Finally, after years of wanting to come here, I land on Australian soil. It takes a while to get through immigration, but they barely so much as look at my passport and don't bother to check any of my belongings. I'm just waived through. After all the form filling and bureaucracy involved in getting my Visa, it comes as something of a surprise to get in this easily. Still, I'm not complaining.

The train from the airport to the centre of Sydney sets me back around six quid (in English money). Note to the parasitic bastards running services like the Gatwick Express - you give a very poor impression to people visiting England. You c*nts. As I board the train, I am amazed to see virtually all passengers decked out in some form of the Australian flag. Have I ventured upon some kind of far-right rally by mistake? Then, as I glance at newspapers are reading on board, it makes sense. It's Australia Day. Great. Fresh from Ashes humiliation, I've arrived on the day of the year when everyone gets pissed and loudly celebrates being the nation that's tonked us 5-0. Or something like that.

The place I'm staying in for my first few days in Sydney is booked up tonight, so I've decided that for one night only I'll give myself a bit of a treat and stay somewhere really nice. I'm in a four star hotel off Darling Harbour, which I managed to get a cheap internet deal on - 50 quid for the night.

Note to pompous travellers who claim you're only keeping it real if you stay in the cheapest, down market hostels - f*ck off. I get really sick and tired of middle class boys spending Daddy's money who trot this line out, and I've come across plenty of them (ok, my parents lent me the money for the flight here, but that's not the point). I saw a couple of 'them' at Tokyo Airport last night clutching a small backpack with about six BO stinking t-shirts in, but strangely enough still able to bring acoustic guitatrs with them so they can doubtless spend their evenings playing James Blunt covers to other middle class travellers whilst exhorting the qualities of David Cameron (maybe). Do one!

I grab a couple of hours kip, then head down to Sydney Harbour Bridge to take in the day's celebrations. When in Rome etc. It's generally a good natured, family crowd with live music and entertainment. I am just captivated by the scenery, the glorious weather and the happiness of having turned what started as an idea a few months ago into a reality. I think I'm going to like this city.

Australia are playing England in a one-dayer today in Adelaide. I find a bar away from the crowds to watch the action, hoping that my fears of coming out here to witness further humiliation will fear misplaced - that Freddie's Lions will rise like a phoenix from the Ashes (no pun intended ho ho ho) and spare me the ignominy of watching another abject display on my first day in Australia. The score as I look up at the screen having entered the bar? England 110 all out. I look around, expecting to see laughing local faces and hear Pommie baiting taunts. Nothing. Nobody cares. The Aussies obviously stopped treating a meeting with us as a serious encounter some time ago. I finish my drink and head back to the hotel.

There were fears that this Australia Day could lead to an escalation in the racial tensions between native Sydneysiders and Muslim Lebanese immigrants, which famously caused riots here two years ago. As I pop into one of the scores of convenience stores that line Sydney's streets on my back, that are almost exclusively staffed by immigrants, I fear this too when I see the leary way several young locals go about ordering cigarettes. Hopefully it's just too much beer in the sun, I think. Reports the next day pretty much confirm this - the night passes without incident and is judged a success.

I finally go to bed at midnight, feeling very happy to be here. I've only seen parts of the city, but it seems a great place. Tomorrow is forecast to be 32 degrees. I fall asleep a happy man.

Sayonara Tokyo...

Woke up early today, probably because I was worried about finding somewhere to stay in Sydney. Felt like death as well following last night's binge.

Got myself organised and over to an internet cafe, where I tracked down an affordable but nice sounding hotel to stay in for the first few days of my trip to Sydney. Result.

With my flight not being until 8pm, I had the afternoon to sample more of the delights of Tokyo. I decided to do something I'd never done before in my life. Something that I had somehow missed out on during my childhood in Norfolk. Yes, that's right - I went on a skyscraper bar crawl.

Tokyo boasts some impressive high rised buildings - many of which have bars and restaurants at the top. I suppose I could have looked round some art galleries during my final few hours there, but this seemed like much more fun.

I took the lift to the 52nd floor of the Shinjunku Sumitomo building and it honestly took less time than it does for me to get to the fourth floor of Local Government House in Westminster, where I work. The view from there was out of this world. It was the perfect place to have a drink and bring an end to my Tokyo trip.

Unfortunately I did not have as much success with the other skyscapers. One refused to let me in as I was not a guest of the hotel housed in it, another only had a restaurant at the top and would not allow me to have just drinks. In the end I gave up, got some tins in and buggered off to the airport.

I enjoyed Tokyo. It is a modern, vibrant and very interesting place. I didn't get to see as much as I would have liked of it, and I'd like to go back again and see more of Japan. It is hard work on your own - if you can go, try doing it with somebody who speaks a bit of the language and knows where to visit.

I found the Japanese very nice and polite, but rather cold. In my time there I did not see one person raise their voice, behave anti-socially, or do anything that could be considered vaguely offensive. But with that kind of conservatism comes a personality price, and I've come across far warmer people. As I got the train to Tokyo Narita Airport, part of me felt grateful that I could come to Japan, be treated well and enjoy myself when my grandfather fought the Japanese in the jungles of south east Asia. But, more than anything, I found it difficult to believe a nation like the one I had just visited could have conducted the wars it did in the first place.

Anyway, enough of this philisophical nonsense. Time to go to Sydney, and the main part of my trip...

"You're not going back. Trust me."

Again I struggle to get out of bed before midday. I'm angry with myself for this, but it has seriously been a case of not being physically capable rather than not being arsed. I'm hoping my body clock will have adjusted now.

Today I head off Asakusa, which is the most traditional part of the city and has temples and shit like that. I decide to take a river boat there from the south of the city (Asakusa is in the north east) so I can see more than I would on a train. And because boats are more fun.

After a 35 minute journey, which was very pleasant, I saunter around the traditional shops and markets of Asakusa. There are visibly more Western tourists here than in other parts of the city I've been to. It is all nice enough and made for some nice pictures. I head off back to the hotel earlier than I would have liked because of a rather pressing concern - I fly to Sydney tomorrow and I haven't sorted out anywhere to stay yet. As with having to read up on Tokyo whilst flying there, I just didn't have the time to look into it before I left. After freshening up, I catch the subway to Shinjuku - the busiest part of town where there are bound to be lots of internet cafes, I reason. Oh and it's where all Tokyo's gay bars are as well.

Shinjuku makes Shibuya (the place I went to last night) look like a sleepy Norfolk village by comparison. The sheer scale of the buildings, the endless shops, the bright lights that almost blind you - it almost has the effect of sending me into a trance. Eventually I find a coffee shop/bar with internet access restricted to one hour per person (free). Plenty of time to find somewhere suitable to stay, I assure myself. Hmmmm. A few internet searches don't throw up anything affordable other than in the drug and prostitution riddled area of Kings Cross in Sydney, which I'm not going to do on my first nights in the city (staying in the area I meant, not the oh you know what I etc etc). I resign myself to trying again in the morning after consulting Time Out.

I feel angry with myself for not organising basic things such as accommodation. My last day in Tokyo will now have to include stints in internet cafes booking hotels. Not why I came here.

In need of a drink now, I try to track down the handful of bars that constitutes Tokyo's gay scene. It would have been rude to come all this way and not say Konnichiwa, and there is always the chance somebody fit could be in there. After around half an hour of basically getting lost in the freezing cold, I throw a hissy fit to myself and decide to write off a disastrous evening and go back to the hotel. Then, as I'm heading towards the nearest Subway, I notice increasing numbers of rather dodgy and unattractive men passing me by on the pavement. I must have found it. Sure enough, I come across a cluster of around three or four bars with loud music pumping out and the rainbow flag in the window.

As I walk into the first bar - a tiny place with only room for about 15 people - I notice there is a Western looking guy sat on his own in the corner. Somebody to talk to, I hope to myself. Sure enough, after buying a drink, he comes over and we spend the next few hours getting royally drunk. I think it must have been the fact that I had only been having conversations with people in broken English for the past few days, as I just couldn't stop nattering away. It was good fun - transpires he is an Aussie stopping off in Japan on his way to a career break in England, which is of course the direct opposite to yours truly. We joke about how many pounds/dollars both of us would have for the number of people who had said to us before leaving: "You won't be coming back". I start to wonder why it is that so many people from the UK and Australia seem so keen to escape to the other country, why it is that the grass is always greener on the other side. Then Shaun (that was his name) said very firmly: "You're not coming back. Trust me."

"Why not? I've not even got there yet, how can you possibly make that prediction? It's pointless for me to even think about it," I reply (also thinking to myself how on earth he would know that after only spending enough time in my company to have a few beers)

"Because I've lived abroad. I taught English here in Japan for two years of my life. And although you're working, you're still in another country. It feels like a holiday. It is still better than the mundane shit you have to put up with at home. Why would you want to go back to that?"

He described my life at home as mundane without me even asking what it is I do. Either I give that impression naturally or we are all stuck in a rut that it takes drastic action to break out of. We shook hands, wished each other well, and went our separate ways. By now I was shit faced and cursing myself for getting so drunk the night before checking out of the hotel.

Tokyo - it's not Coventry

Still suffering from jet lag, I finally make it out of bed at around 1pm today. And that was hard f***ing work.

First task is to buy a new digital camera (my last one got bust when I fell in the sea in Goa last year). There isn't much point of travelling without taking photos, really. My fears that it would prove to be hard work prove unfounded as I snap up a reasonably priced new Olympus camera from a huge electrical store in Yurakucho, near the Imperial Gardens. I also take advantage of the low prices to buy an alarm clock (which I now can't work as all the instructions are in Japanese).

I then do my first bit of 'culture' and have a long stroll around the Imperial Gardens. Breathtakingly well maintained, it is fantastic to walk around them on a perfect clear winter's day. Slap bang in the middle of the city, the old and the new of Tokyo actually blend in very effectively. The only shame is that so much of the gardens, temples and the palace is closed off to the public. Walking around, I am struck by just how clean everything is - and that goes for everywhere I went in the city. You just don't see chewing gum on the pavement or litter anywhere. Having been disappointed by the area I am staying in - clearly Tokyo's cultural and entertainment equivalent to Penge - I am starting to see why so many people have fallen in love with this city. There is hardly a single development that looks harsh on the eye, that seems like it was a planning disaster.

As I walk around, I cannot help by drawing comparisons with how Britain spectacularly failed in comparison when it came to re-building our cities after World War II. Look at Coventry, for f***s sake. The Nazis bomb half the cathedral and we respond by replacing it with the arhictectual equivalent of a run down council leisure centre. Genius.

In the evening I explore Shibuya, described as Tokyo's "trendsetting, neon-festooned suburb" by the Rough Guide. They're right about the lights. You come out of the subway station and it's like Piccadilly Circus on speed. That said, everyone there is relaxed, nobody is in a hurry, nobody is in your way. It's fine. So not really like speed at all then. I pop into a few bars, send a few e-mails and then head back to the hotel.

There's nowt as queer as folk

Japan, like most of Asia, hits you full on in the face when you arrive - especially after an 11 hour, sleep deprived, alcohol fuelled long haul flight.

It's nothing like India, for example, but the overwhelming initial feeling you get is one of bewilderment. A completely different culture and undecipherable language always make the first few hours the most difficult, and it is no different here. What makes this also more difficult is the myriad of different activities that you or I would find innocuous, but are very offensive to Japanese people - like eating while walking, apparently. Every time I so much as twitch I wonder if I'm committing the moral equivalent of shitting on your mum's new carpet.

As I catch the train to my hotel, I notice that Japan is very different to the other Asian countries I have visited in terms of landscape. It's closer to Europe in many ways, which can largely be attributed to its cold winters. The weather is not much warmer than England at this time of year, and already my mind is turning towards the hotter temperatures that await me down under.

After dumping my stuff at the hotel - a smart, basic, comfortable and affordable place just north of Tokyo station in Awaji-Cho - I find somewhere to eat. It is here that I am introduced to some of the strange contradictions in Japanese society. Virtually every sign or product you find in Tokyo is written in both Japanese and English - except restaurant menus. On most occasions you literally have to guess what you are going to get, with your only help being a few rather dodgy looking photographs akin to those you see on menus in Magaluf. The restaurant staff, like the vast majority of people in Japan, can hardly even speak the most basic English and are subsequently of little help. Given that I can't eat fish, this is something like a game of culinary roulette I'm being asked to play here. Fortunately, the option I go for turns out to be a nice stir fried beef dish that is actually quite tasty.

It's now 3pm - but 6am by my body clock - and I can't keep going much longer, so I return to the hotel for a nap. Oh, before I forget, the other strange Japanese contradictions are: Smoking is banned in the street, but not in pubs and restaurants (litter is clearly a higher concern than public health); and believe it or not it is considered highly offensive to blow your nose in public, but urinating in the street is commonplace. Work that one out.

After a five hour kip, I drag myself out of bed to explore the local area. There isn't much to explore. Almost every other building seems to be some kind of restaurant, but there are virtually no bars. Eventually I stumble across a friendly little bar where I sink a couple of beers before opting to return to the hotel.

Tired, drained and all the rest of it, again I feel strange as I lay in bed after the first day of my trip. It is at this point that I feel thankful that I brought my laptop and a case full of DVDs with me for company at times like this. I am reminded of my first few nights away at university aged 18, when I dealt with the daunting experience of being away by watching Only Fools and Horses videos in my room. For some reason watching them reminded me of times when we would watch the episodes as a family. On this occasion, I plump for the DVD of Queer as Folk. I have no idea why. There is nothing about my family that reminds me of the Manchester gay scene. However, tucked up safely in bed and watching something that is familiar and entertaining, I feel comfortable. It's barking bloody mental - flying to Japan to lay in bed watching a DVD about a load of old queens - but it helps me feel relaxed on my first night, and that's the main thing.

If not now, when?

Right. This is it. After weeks of talking about it, worrying about it, looking forward to it and using it as an excuse to go on the lash, today I will finally commence my six month career break.

I wake on Sunday morning feeling nervous. In fact I feel almost sick. There are no doubts in my mind about what I'm about to do - far from it - but this is a venture into the unknown.

However despite the butterflies, I don't lose sight of the fact that I am going on this trip for very good reasons. This sabbatical has come about largely because my life is at a crossroads. I don't want to leave my job, but equally I could be a lot happier. I don't know what I want to do next. I don't know whether I want to stay in London any more. I'm 30 in October.

Throw into the equation that I've always wanted to live abroad for a period of time, and that Australia at this time of year is a far more attractive proposition than cold winter mornings in England, and you have a pretty strong 'business case' for this I guess.

I always thought blogs were for people with no lives and the terminally sad. Perhaps this is final proof that I fall into these categories, but I mainly hope this will prove to be a record of my trip I can look back on in years to come.

The last parts of the packing and clearing up are quickly dealt with, and I'm on my way. For the first time the journey to Heathrow is dominated by feelings of trepidation rather than excitement. Once there and checked in, I say my final goodbyes to friends and family before boarding the 14.35 British Airways service to Tokyo.

In my mad dash to finish up at work, pack all my things, say goodbye to my friends and move out of my flat, I had virtually no time to plan for the three nights I will spend in Japan before I arrive in Sydney next week. The long flight gives me ample opportunity to read up on what to do when I arrive, which is just as well considering BA's in flight 'entertainment' is about as entertaining as a stand up comedy show from John Redwood.